


The Sharpie Disaster or That One Time Clint Got Turned Into a Kid For a Week and It Wasn't Quite as Tragic as Everyone Expected

by evlytheevilqueen



Series: Katja does trope bingo wrong [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, and please don't try out the parenting techniques displayed here, because I end up turning even the childhood from hell into fluff somehow, so beware of that, there are descriptions of the aftermath of violence against a child, this is mostly cracky fluff, unless you want a spoiled rotten child with possible knife injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5237819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evlytheevilqueen/pseuds/evlytheevilqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers get turned into kids, Nick Fury is a smug bastard, Tony doesn't want to eat his vegetables and Clint is stuck as his six-year-old self for a week. There might be a petition to build a time machine so everyone can get a turn punching Harold Barton. There are a LOT of inspired Sharpie drawings. Did I forget anything? Guess you have to read to find out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sharpie Disaster or That One Time Clint Got Turned Into a Kid For a Week and It Wasn't Quite as Tragic as Everyone Expected

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually part of the fics for my Trope Bingo card. Being the scatterbrain that I am, I remembered way too late that I still had to write those fics, and of course they also turned out way longer than planned, so I didn't make the deadline. But I decided to write and post the stories anyway, so here we are. This one was for the combined tropes 'de-aged/chibi' and 'bite mark/bruise'

Phil was pretty sure that this was a personal nightmare coming true. It wasn't something he'd worried about consciously but if the idea had ever crossed his mind before, he was sure it would have ranked pretty high on the list of things that had him waking up screaming.

As it was, he was gathering more nightmare material by the minute to make up for not having feared this specific scenario before. Phil couldn't even tell why he hadn't because improbability and the laws of physics hardly ever applied to the people he was working with on a daily basis, anyway.

Much as he may or may not (in some instances) had come to like them, the day he was going to regret letting Nick talk him into becoming the Avengers' liaison was the day they had to bury his cold dead body. This time without reviving him through questionable means that had him yelling at his boss/one of his eldest and best friends for hours until his voice was nothing more but a hoarse rasp.

The memory of yelling till his voice gave in promptly drew him back into the present, as Maria tried in vain to get a hip-high Thor to let go of her legs. Apparently, and to no one's surprise, Thor seemed to have been a clingy kid.

Thankfully, at least in this case, also one with a very small attention span, so Maria regained her freedom the moment little Thor spotted something interesting going on at the other end of the hall and promptly ran over to harass a couple of slightly dazed and more than a little charmed junior agents. It looked like they were going to indulge him and keep him busy for at least a little while, so Phil prayed that they wouldn't let a demi-god with the current mental capacities of a six-year-old play with any of their equipment and turned to the more pressing matters at hand.

Which were, among others, the fact that no one had a clue where little Natasha and little Clint had disappeared to. Video footage and eye witnesses all assured them that all of the Avengers had been hit by whatever weird science gun ray that had turned them into just above toddlers for unfathomable reasons. Yet, while everyone else was in SHIELD's care and accounted for, those two had managed to get past everyone looking for them and the agents guarding the huge doors to the concert room.

It didn't help that their wanna-be villain of the week had decided to commit his evil deeds in an opera house and the rows of seats made it hard to overlook the room. Clint would probably still have been able to spot them, but as he was currently about six years old and hiding from everyone that wasn't much help.

Much to Phil's surprise (and relief), Stark was actually the easiest of the lot to handle. All he needed was a little attention, a few calm, friendly words and some physical contact and he turned into a mostly peaceful, happy little kid. The only sign of hyperactivity was his near constant babble but at that age it was still cute. And much more innocent and thus bearable than the adult Stark's never-ending talking.

Bruce was unsurprisingly shy and jumpy, but as long as he was spoken to gently and no one moved too fast in his general vicinity he was easy enough to handle. The Hulk didn't seem to have translated into his current state. Which was a very good thing in Phil's book because he really didn't want to see a scared little kid hulking out, much less a Hulk without any of Banner's usual control running around.

No one had expected that their main problem – apart from Clint and Natasha's disappearance – would be Steve. Tiny Steve Rogers seemed to be a little firecracker always ready for a fight and very much unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. He was also endlessly curious and babbling almost as much as mini Tony, which, as a combination, gave the agents handling him not exactly the easiest of times. But he was also unbearably adorable, polite and fragile enough that they didn't even seem bothered all that much in the end.

Which brought Phil back to his current priority – finding his last two renegade Avengers. Natasha had already been in training with the Red Room at this age, so it was no miracle she had managed to escape them and though Clint didn't really talk about it much or at all, Phil knew that he'd had to learn how to hide from his father from a young age. None of that knowledge would make it easier to find them in practice, but it was a starting point.

Phil was just wrecking his brains for possible places a de-aged Black Widow would hide when a triumphant cry echoed from somewhere behind the stage, shortly followed by a beaming Fury with a pouting little redhead on his shoulders. When everyone just stared at him incredulously – safe for the few daring junior agents taking pictures to the side – Fury merely shrugged, barely moving Natasha.

“What? Little Romanoff can't outspy me.”

Phil had to suppress very ill-advised laughter when he realized that little Natasha was pouting because Fury had 'outspied' her, put out that she hadn't managed to conceal herself better. He really hoped none of the Avengers would remember their adventures as little kids because if they did, SHIELD would probably have to look for a new director. And Phil was likely very high up on the list of possible successors and also happened to not want that particular job at all.

“You wouldn't happen to be able to outspy little Barton as well?” Phil asked without much hope. He really wasn't looking forward to having to drag a scared little kid Clint out of some high-up corner.

Fury just laughed in his face. “Oh no, you're not pinning that one on me, Cheese. You go deal with the kid-version of Barton, I've got my hands full with Romanoff.” He went off almost cheerfully after that. If Phil hadn't known better he could have sworn that there was a spring in his step.

“Smug bastard,” Phil muttered to himself. Not wanting to waste valuable time being mad at Fury, he grabbed hold of the nearest SHIELD agent and got their current status. Apparently, no one had checked the higher ground so far, foolishly assuming that six-year-olds wouldn't be able to get into the rafters over the stage.

Sighing at the fact that he was apparently the only one who knew better, Phil made his way up the stairs. He sure as hell wouldn't try to climb up from the ground like Clint probably had and make a fool of himself in front of the junior agents. Not to mention that pulling himself up for that long wouldn't do good things for his scar.

Thanks to his own little piece of Jarvis, installed on his tablet by Tony himself, an overview of the opera's layout wasn't very difficult to get. It should be safe to get on the rafters from the staff entrance to the roof. Phil was relatively sure that Clint was hiding up in there. So, however reluctantly, he made his way past the bustling SHIELD personnel and climbed his way yet farther up.

He was still debating whether it wouldn't be better to just let little Clint hide up here until it was all over when he was balancing precariously on the rafters. Maybe he should have grabbed a handful of agents to help secure him up here. However, when he finally did spot Clint and crept close enough to actually look at him, he was very glad that he had made the effort and that he had decided to come alone.

Clint was cowering in the farthest, most difficult to reach corner of the rafters, curled around his knees and hiding his face in his own arms, obviously resigned to having been found. Even with him curled up in a ball and doing his best not to show any part of himself the edges of what had to be a large black bruise on his left cheek stood out clear as day.

Phil's hands were ever so slightly trembling with the barely suppressed urge to somehow go back in time and make Clint's father pay for what he did to this son. He had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself before he dared to approach any further. Little Clint was shaking like a leaf, coming at him mad wasn't likely to gain any positive results.

“Hey.” Phil tried his best soothing voice, usually reserved for traumatized bystanders. “It's all right. No one here is going to hurt you. If you just come down from here, I'll make sure you don't have to go back into the crowd down there. We'll give you something for your bruise and I'm sure you could use some hot food and maybe a cup of tea.” Carefully, he reached out and offered his right hand, palm up and thankfully steady.

A pair of very suspicious, very blue eyes hesitantly looked up at him from behind the knees and arms. Most of the left one was swollen shut and surrounded by a truly horrifying array of blue and black. Kid Clint eyed Phil carefully up and down, seemingly trying to decide whether to trust him or not, then slowly shook his head.

For a moment, Phil was afraid that that was a no and that he'd have to drag Clint down kicking and screaming. Considering that they were unsecured up in the rafters that was the worst possible outcome and his heart sank.

But then an equally hesitant hand slowly lifted from Clint's knees, a shaky finger pointing at his ear, and he shook his head again, looking straight into Phil's eyes. It took a moment for Phil to get it, to process the way the bruise was even larger than he'd feared and was actually spreading up to the ear.

This Clint couldn't hear. He'd been thrown back into a time where he was nothing but a defenseless kid expecting violence from most adults, without his hearing and a bruise half the size of his face. Of course he'd run for it. What else had he known at that age?

Phil searched his memory for what little sign language he knew. His hands were clumsy and slow when he finally came up with the signs that would get at least some of his meaning across. It basically amounted to “come down”, “I'll keep you safe” and “food?”, but that was the best he had and he had to work with it.

Clint stared at him, biting his already abused lip and making no move. Phil's heart sank. Did that mean he didn't understand, that this Clint was freshly deaf and knew neither how to sign nor how to read lips? That would make communication even more difficult than it already was.

The moment stretched on, Phil's heart hammering in his chest. He really didn't want to have to deal with a scared, abused little Clint who couldn't even understand him, who he couldn't even really console. Phil highly doubted that hugging the kid without a warning would go over well, no matter how much he wanted to. It was getting harder to tell if this situation was more traumatizing for him or for de-aged Clint by the minute.

Finally, Clint gave him the tiniest jerk of his head, a barely there nod, and Phil wanted to cry in relief. Clint didn't look happy about his decision and he was still shaking like a leaf, but he had agreed to let Phil close, to let him touch him and get him to safety, where he could be treated. And where Phil could maybe sneak off to punch a wall or something. Let off some steam, before he actually went to Stark or Richards or someone and begged them to build a time machine so he could punch Clint's father.

Careful, ever so careful, Phil crawled over to Clint on all fours, doing his best not to appear threatening or look down at the rows of seats and the stage far below, still overrun by SHIELD agents. Clint didn't back away – not that there was much space left for him to do so – and Phil coming closer didn't seem to scare him further. It also didn't do much to reassure him, though, judging by the way he was still curled up and hugging his knees to his chest. A thin trickle of blood was running down his chin from where his teeth had eventually cut through his bottom lip.

Finally, Phil was close enough to reach out for Clint. He fought with himself for a second, barely suppressing the urge to cope this scared little kid up in a hug and never let go. It wouldn't go over well and he knew better. Also, from what little he'd actually gotten from adult Clint about his childhood, he doubted that the kid was quite as defenseless as he looked. No one knew better than Phil and maybe Natasha that first and foremost, Clint was a fighter, a survivor, and always had been.

So instead, Phil held out his hand again and waited.

It took a little while, but after thorough contemplation, Clint finally let go of his knees and came to a wobbling stand. Phil's heart sank even lower because for the first time, the light and the angle allowed him to see the full extent of little Clint's injuries. He was shifting weight away from his left foot in a way that indicated damage to the ankle. There were blood splatters in a few places on his pants and shirt, and Phil was not delusional enough to hope that it was all someone else's.

But the most important, the most worrying? Wasn't the blood or the potentially sprained ankle or even the goddamn head injury that had damaged his hearing. What had Phil breathing harshly through an oncoming panic attack, or maybe just blind range, was the overly careful, measured way little Clint was breathing.

There had to be some damage to the ribs. Someone had kicked or punched this kid hard enough to injure bone. Scratch that, he was pretty sure he knew the culprit. And Phil might not have been a big fan of medical himself but he did know that it was considerably harder to break a child's bones. Barton senior had hit hard enough to deafen his son, to possibly break or at least bruise his bones. He'd hit hard enough to make the decision to climb up the rafters seem more logical than going to the adults for help.

Rarely had Phil been more happy that he wasn't burdened with Banner's Hulk problem. Because if he were they'd be having a serious problem right now.

Not that there wasn't a problem now – getting Clint down without potentially making his injury worse would be near impossible. He was already scared of the damage the climb up had done as it was.

Phil was still trying to come up with the best strategy for this particular problem when a familiar swooshing noise drew his gaze to his right. He nearly fell off the rafters when he caught sight of a fully adult Thor hovering next to them, Mjolnir twirling over his head. Out of the corner of his eye he could see little Clint pressing even closer to the wall, eyes wide.

“You're back already?” Phil said eventually, proud of himself for how completely normal and unworried he sounded.

“Aye, Son of Could, it would appear so,” Thor said, sounding a little smug about it. “The villain's nefarious device does not seem to have a strong hold over a prince of Asgard.”

A sigh of pure relief escaped Phil before he could stop it. One less problem to deal with, and this would also make getting Clint down from the rafters and to the medics a lot easier. Hopefully.

“Anyone else back to normal?”

“Aye, our good Captain and Doctor Banner.”

Phil didn't even fight the next sigh building up in his throat, this time anything but relieved. Great, that meant he'd still have to deal with miniature versions of Stark, Romanoff and Barton for who knew how long. At least they had one of their scientists, their leader, and Thor back to help out with the situation, but still. He'd have preferred it if the stupid science gun's effects could have just spontaneously worn off for everyone at once.

Meanwhile, Thor had stopped paying attention to Phil and was instead locked in a staring match with little Clint. Clint didn't seem at all comfortable with this development, he was pressing so hard back against the wall it looked like he was trying to disappear through it. But he held Thor's eyes and didn't flinch once.

The grin on Thor's face was broad as ever but Phil thought he caught concern in his eyes, in the way they briefly lingered on the visible injuries and the way Clint's chest rose and fell way too evenly with each breath. “Might this be the Hawk-Eye'd One?” His tone was carefree and inviting, but not nearly as overenthusiastic and booming as Phil was used from him.

Clint looked to Phil, eyes wide and curious. Phil gave him the best smile he could manage right now. It probably wasn't much but it seemed to reassure Clint enough that his iron grip on the wall loosened a little.

“Yes, that's Clint. Could you help us down, Thor? It looks like Clint is a little hurt and I don't want to risk carrying him down here if I can avoid it.” His brow furrowed a little as a thought crossed his mind. “Thor, the All-Speak wouldn't happen to work with sign language, would it?”

Thor blinked at him. “Sign language?”

“You know-” Phil started, gave up and eventually just signed the first thing that came to mind. Which, for some reason, was “Your chicken is on fire.” He blamed Clint for that one. “Sign language. For those who can't-”

“Aaah, yes, I know of what you speak.” Thor grinned at him. “The way those who cannot hear communicate with their hands on Midgard. I understand it, but I cannot form the signs myself, I fear. However, I could bring you Doctor Banner, he is much more well versed in this language. And he might be able to cure my aflame bird.” The corners of his mouth twitched up a little.

Phil had to work hard to suppress hysterical laughter. “That would be appreciated, Thor.”

Without so much as another word, Thor was twisting around and heading back towards the ground in a swirl of golden hair and red cape, Mjolnir first. Clint stumbled forward and nearly fell off the rafters as he tried to keep looking even as Thor disappeared from their sight. Phil had to pull him back by his shirt, the wide-eyed excitement on his face nearly melting his heart. He'd have been unfairly adorable if it wasn't for the giant bruise and the swollen eye.

It wasn't long before Thor returned with Bruce, but it felt like an eternity to Phil. Trying to explain Thor was difficult enough without the hindrance of Phil's limited knowledge of sign language and Clint's little experience with lip-reading. And Phil kept getting more worried with every passing minute Clint's injuries were not treated, even if he hadn't shown any signs of getting worse.

As soon as Thor set Bruce down on the rafters, Clint was back in his corner, back to the wall, eying him suspiciously. How anyone could feel particularly threatened by Bruce without knowing of his alter-ego – or maybe meeting him in the middle of a rage fit – was beyond Phil. But then again, just looking at the bruises on his face it was probably a miracle that little Clint let anyone near him at all.

Phil tried his best to give Clint a reassuring smile and signal him with his body language that Bruce posed no danger. But he didn't relax until Bruce started signing faster than Phil's limited comprehension of sign language could follow. Whatever he was saying to Clint, it seemed to work, and after a few tense moments he let go of the wall and approached them on his own.

Maybe that also had something to do with the wide grin on Thor's face. As imposing as the man was in stature, he also had the charisma of a very happy Labrador. It was hard to feel threatened by an overeager Labrador, even if it was three times your size.

No matter what it was that finally made Clint move, Phil had to work hard to suppress a sigh of relief when Clint more stumbled than walked into Bruce's capable hands and actually let him look at his injuries. He was concentrating on Clint so much that he almost flinched when Thor's broad hand landed on his shoulder.

“Young Clinton is going to be fine, Son of Coul, the Doctor will see to that.” The fingers on his shoulder tightened minutely and Phil looked up just in time to see the inviting smile drop into a frown. “But whoever has done this to him will have to answer for their crimes.”

The situation wasn't really anything to laugh at but Phil felt the corners of his mouth twitch up into a bitter half-smile against his will. The stress of this day was poison for his control.

“I fear we're too late for that, Thor,” he said, feeling his smile softening as he glanced back over to Bruce and Clint. “What are they talking about?”

Thor followed the movements of their hands with his eyes for a while before he answered. “They seem to be the typical questions a physician asks their charge. Strength and location of the pain, whether he remembers receiving his injuries...” Thor's voice faded away, eyes narrowing.

“Thor? Thor, what did he say? What's wrong?” And did Phil ever so much hate the fact that Clint Barton could turn him into an anxious mess like no one else.

Thor's frown deepened further. Which did nothing to diminish the knot of anxiety in the pit of Phil's stomach. “He is in a lot of pain. More even than it appears from the outside. We should get him on safe ground.”

Phil wasn't going to argue with that and thankfully it didn't take more than a small hand gesture and a raised eyebrow to communicate to Bruce that they wanted to get back down. He gave them a quick nod before turning back to Clint, explaining their plan with a few quick movements. Clint seemed a little wary and kept throwing wide-eyed glances at Thor, but he didn't make a move to back away or fight them, so Phil was ready to take that as a good sign.

***

To say that Clint took well to his little flight adventure with Thor would be underestimating it. Somehow Thor had managed to outvote them on making two flights, which ended with Phil and Bruce clutching a side each and Clint clinging to his back like a monkey. Phil was worried that a piggy back ride probably wasn't the best idea with all his injuries, but Bruce didn't seem to have any objections.

By the time they touched the floor of the opera house, Clint was whooping despite the pain that had to cause him, laughing the whole way down. He refused to climb off of Thor's back even as Thor wouldn't agree to flying him to the medical station and Phil was too relieved to see him happy and carefree to make him walk on his own. Not to mention that it was most likely better for his ankle if he didn't.

When they finally got to the medical station it was blessedly empty – for the most part. The usual personnel was as absent as Phil's instructions could have made it but Steve was already waiting for them... and so were Tony, Natasha and Fury. Phil refrained from taking pictures of the director of SHIELD with a de-aged Black Widow and Iron Man in his lap, but it was a struggle.

The kids just mustered each other with wide eyes, but Steve and Fury were both staring at the giant bruise that made up most of Clint's face. Steve scowled in a way that made it obvious that he'd drawn his conclusions who the culprit might be and was not pleased that he was already dead.

Fury's expression didn't give much but Phil had known him long enough to know that he was probably planning on resurrecting the bastard only to kill him again. In ways that would make a drunken car accident look like mercy. Maybe Phil would be able to get him to agree on the time machine idea after all.

Clint still seemed suspicious of the new people but he let Bruce pick him off of Thor's back without complaint and didn't even so much as try to wiggle off of the stretcher he put him on. Patiently, he let Bruce bandage him up. For a moment, everyone who wasn't de-aged and thus robbed of their memories of how Clint usually dealt with medical treatment just stared.

“There isn't a way we could keep that aspect of his personality intact when this madness gets reversed, is there?” Fury asked into the room, absentmindedly bouncing Tony and Natasha on his legs. Tony whooped with joy and even Natasha giggled a bit. There was a second he wasn't proud of when Phil looked at the display and marveled in how much easier it would be to corral this bunch if they stayed like this.

Then again, it would also highly reduce their effectiveness.

Thor smiled down at his tiny teammates. “Where we this precious just minutes ago?”

Fury smirked at him. “Most of you. Rogers was a nightmare.”

Steve made an undignified noise and looked like he was about to argue with Fury when he was distracted by little Tony suddenly deciding that Fury's lap wasn't good enough any more and went for Steve's legs instead.

“I'm taking it back,” Phil muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Not easier to control at all.”

Bruce, the only one who seemed to pay attention to him at the moment, chuckled. “I'm actually not even sure if this is particularly different from usual.”

Phil sighed deeply as he watched Fury loudly denounce a six-year-old Stark as a traitor who ignored him in favor of climbing up the legs of a very flustered Steve while Thor chased a laughing Natasha around them. “Me neither.”

***

Several hours later found them back in the tower, after the SHIELD scientists finally let them go. They'd been deemed not at risk and since there seemed to be nothing they could do except for wait out the effects anyway, no one wanted to keep them around longer than necessary.

Phil couldn't really blame them for that, as little Clint, Tony and Natasha had bonded on the car ride over after their initial carefulness around each other and were now a little hurricane of destruction. It was hard to tell if there were any vases still standing anywhere in the tower at this point. They'd arrived less than half an hour ago.

“Jarvis, where are they?” He sounded exasperated to his own ears. There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Phil started regretting a lot of the life choices that had led him here. Since that was a daily occurrence, he satisfied his need to quit by imagining Fury's face when he'd realize he had to find someone else stupid enough to take this job.

“It would appear that Mr. Barton has discovered an entrance to the ventilation system and is now showing Miss Romanoff and Sir how to get access,” Jarvis informed him, sounding as done with this entire situation as Phil felt. Phil did his best to bite down a groan.

“Who is closest?”

“That would be Captain Rogers, Agent Coulson.”

Maybe someone did hear his prayers after all. “Good. If he can get them out, tell him not to shy back from anything short of hurting them. I don't care if he has to break half the building, Stark can rebuild.”

“Of course, Agent Coulson.” Jarvis sounded unduly amused. Some days, it weighed heavily on Phil's mind that the only other sane being in this tower was an AI created by Stark himself of all people.

***

And that had pretty much been the highlight of Phil's day. It took them almost three hours to get their tiny charges out of the vents. Thor wasn't particularly helpful as he found it delightful how easily their teammates outsmarted them even at six years old and was loathe to prevent their 'duly-gained victory'.

Sadly, Bruce wasn't much more help, either. He was too worried about Clint's injuries getting worse from crawling around in the vents to do much else but hold the Hulk at bay. At some point, Phil was very tempted to rip off Bruce's headphones and let the Hulk have a go at the walls. Not that it would have increased their chances at getting to the kids, but it certainly would have been satisfying to watch.

Eventually, Steve and Phil managed to drag three sleepy kids out of the ceiling of the living-room through sheer stubbornness. Bruce held it together long enough to check that Clint's state hadn't worsened and the other two hadn't injured themselves somehow before he retreated to his room. Phil wished he could have done the same. Violently repressing his concern for Clint all day in order not to panic was taking its toll. The strain was visibly showing around Steve's eyes as well.

It took a while but eventually they managed to get the kids into bed, fed and cleaned and hydrated and dressed in their own currently over-sized shirts. Thankfully, setting Thor on bathing duty hadn't been as much of a nightmare as Phil had feared. And since they'd stuffed all three of them into one of Stark's huge bathtubs there was just one flooded floor they couldn't access for now.

Phil foolishly had hoped that would be the worst of it. He found himself very much mistaken as he was standing in the kitchen at six am the next morning, staring in horror at the sharpie drawings covering every single surface.

“Are those blueprints for a rocket-fuelled go-cart?” Bruce asked in faint horror, eyes fixed on the detailed-looking plans on the fridge.

“I don't even want to know.” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers, praying for this insanity to be over. He was doing his best not to lean against the giant pirate ship covering most of the counter and cabinets behind him.

“Where did they get all those sharpies?” Steve was standing in front a very impressive red and purple mural of a dinosaur fighting a robot with a bow and arrow and tried to look like he wasn't amused. Phil appreciated the effort.

“Jarvis?” Phil asked, side-stepping Thor as he crawled on all fours over the floor so he could better follow their 'young friends marvelous tales'. It looked like Tony and Clint had taken the tiles on the floor as an invitation to use them as panels for a comic. Phil was pretty sure he'd seen a cowboy fight a spaceship somewhere down there.

Natasha was the only one unmoved by the display, sitting in the middle of the room on the kitchen table and sipping her coffee as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Phil decided to skip the madness and join her with a cup of his own.

“Sir had some in stock in the workshop.” Phil almost dropped his cup on Thor's head, heart sinking.

“Please tell me they weren't in the workshop, Jarvis.”

“Of course not, Agent Coulson.” He sounded insulted that they'd even suspect him of such an idea. “I would not let either of them in the vicinity of most of the machines down there in their current state. And they do not have the access codes to override me” There was a dignified pause. “Agent Barton stole most of them for the purpose of drawing mustaches on his sleeping teammates a few months ago.”

Now that was unsurprising.

Deciding that he was already done with this morning, Phil hopped on the table next to Natasha.

“How are you?”

Her lips twitched up at the corners, not really a smile but close enough for her. “I'm fine. Gladly, I turned back before I could get involved in this.” She gestured at the sharpie drawings covering every surface of the kitchen with her cup.

“Oh, I'm not so sure about that,” Phil said, grinning at her. When she raised a questioning eyebrow at him he merely pointed to the blood red spider painted on the kitchen table behind them.

“Ah, no.” Natasha's grin turned terrifying. “I did that after I got up here.” She leaned back on her free hand, her legs swinging as she drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I turned back around midnight. Barton and Stark haven't been up here until four, according to Jarvis.”

Phil snorted into his coffee.

“An impressive feat, to cover the kitchen so extensively in creative drawings in such a short time,” Thor said from where he was sticking his head under the stove to see if the picture he'd been looking at spread to down there.

“Not just the kitchen, I'm afraid,” Jarvis said, rather hesitantly. Phil resisted the urge to add a few measures of one of Stark's best scotch to his coffee.

“Where are they right now?”

Jarvis took a worrying moment to answer them. “In Doctor Banner's rooms.”

Bruce was out of the kitchen before anyone could stop him. With a resigned sigh, Phil dragged a smirking Natasha with him to keep the worst from happening.

***

As it turned out, Bruce's room and the kitchen hadn't been the only victims of Tony and Clint's shenanigans. They were just as terrifyingly effective at mischief when working together at six years old as as grown-ups.

If it hadn't been for Jarvis reassuring Phil regularly that Clint's state was unaltered and all his vital signs just fine, that probably would have been cause for more worry. As it was, he was merely looking forward to presenting a grown-up Stark with his drawings and leave him to the clean-up after a good laugh.

He got part of his wish by mid-day. One moment, Steve was balancing a whiny little Tony on his lap, trying to get him to eat his vegetables, the next there was a burst of eery green light and-

Actually, not much changed. Steve kept a confused, excessively blinking Tony on his lap, using his disorientation to actually sneak a few bites of broccoli into his mouth. As soon as back-to-grown-up Tony got his bearings back, he tried to fend off the fork Steve was trying to get into his mouth under loud protests, much to the amusement of everyone else at the table.

After they were done with lunch, Phil didn't waste much time to point the self-created damage all over the tower out to Stark. Tony just shrugged, mumbled something along the lines of this being 'the usual crazy' and called a company to clean up his mess. All in all, the reaction was a little disappointing. If anything, Tony seemed kind of proud of the amount of destruction he and Clint had caused.

But Phil wasn't the only one who was disappointed. Clint visibly retreated back into his shell once the last other kid was gone and he was only surrounded by (legally-speaking) adults. It didn't help that Bruce had to run a few tests on him to determine why he was the only one who hadn't changed back yet.

The most critical moment was Bruce approaching with a syringe to get a blood sample. Clint froze and started shaking as soon as he caught sight of it, throwing off most of the team. He was halfway out of Bruce's most comfortable chair and across the room before Steve caught him, soothing him as best as he could.

“Since when is Barton afraid of needles?” Tony asked, frowning in the direction of where Steve was still struggling with little Clint. “I've seen the gentle hands of SHIELD medics ram them into his arms for years and he never so much as flinched. Well, no more than he does whenever medical personnel approaches him in general.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him. “He's always hated needles. He just got used to it.” She glanced over at Clint as well, and something in her face softened. “This version isn't used to it, Tony.”

Before any of them could comment further, Thor was crouching down in front of Clint, effectively shushing them all as Clint immediately stopped struggling. Thor gave him a wide smile and astoundingly enough, Clint relaxed further, until Steve's grip was only provisional.

“Young warrior, would you prefer I sit with you during this ordeal?”

Smartly, Bruce had put away the syringe for now and slipped behind Thor and into Clint's field of vision to sign the question for him. Clint nodded very reluctantly.

“It is all right, small shield brother. Even tested warriors do not enjoy medical procedure. My friend Hogun-” And Thor just kept talking as he led Clint back to the chair, Clint torn between staring wide-eyed and rapturous at Thor and watching Bruce's hands as they moved with Thor's words. Once they had him settled again, Natasha took over for Bruce and Bruce busied himself with preparing the syringe.

At first it looked like this would be enough to calm Clint down but just as the needle approached his arm Clint drew back again, wide eyes on Phil. Phil's heart sank at the pleading gaze there, and he didn't need Thor and Natasha translating for him to know what Clint wanted. Without another word he crossed the room and stopped next to Clint, doing his best not to make a very embarrassing noise when Clint latched onto him as soon as he was in reach.

By the time Bruce tried again, Cap had taken his place behind the chair, a comforting hand on Clint's shoulder, and Tony was doing something with a hologram that apparently required large, ridiculously dramatic hand gestures and lots of loud colors. Clint was so distracted he barely even looked at what Natasha was trying to interpret for him. He relaxed fairly quickly when Bruce carefully drew blood and was immediately bestowed with more sweets than any one kid should eat in a year when the needle was out again.

“I think we're spoiling him,” Tony said an hour later, glancing up from his tablet for a few seconds to make sure his living room was still standing. Clint had been on a sugar-fuelled, post-stress adrenaline rush for the better part of that hour, running circles around them like Speedy Gonzales on speed and leaving a path of minor destruction in his wake. Even Thor had stopped trying to keep up after half an hour and had joined them in sitting it out at the coffee table.

“It's not like he's going to stay like this long enough for our parenting methods to have any effect,” Bruce said, rubbing the fingers of his left hand over that spot between his eyebrows, eyes shut tight. His glasses had disappeared into his tousled curls at some point and he looked maybe a second away from a migraine attack.

“Maybe you should get some rest, Bruce.” Steve came in from the kitchen, carefully settling down next to him on the couch and holding out a fresh cup of tea, neatly side-stepping Clint in the process.

“Yeah, there's not much you can do here.” Tony shrugged, eyes back on his tablet and fingers moving with distracting speed. “He's gonna turn back when he's gonna turn back, whether we watch him or not.”

Bruce frowned at him, gratefully accepting the tea from Steve. “I'd rather be around when he does. I'm not sure what will happen should the injuries translate during the transformation back and I don't want to take any risks.”

“He'll be fine,” Natasha said calmly from where she was lounging in Tony's most comfortable armchair, casually tousling Clint's hair as he raced past her. “He didn't have them when he was turned into a kid. I don't see why they would stay with him when he turns back.”

“But-” Bruce cut himself off when Clint jumped into Steve's lap at full run with a loud whoop, moving the couch they were sitting on a few inches back and spilling tea all over the three of them and Tony's floor. Bruce gave Clint a disapproving look that was completely undermined by both the laughter in his eyes and the way Steve vibrated with barely suppressed giggles. Clint just blinked his blue eyes up at him and grinned. Phil noticed for the first time that he was missing a tooth in the front.

“Don't even try, Brucie, your stern looks aren't every effective.” Tony just shrugged when the disapproving glare turned on him. “Never worked on me so far, don't see why they should on little Robin Hood.” He looked up with a grin. “Coulson on the other hand has seen way too many episodes of Super Nanny.”

“Not to mention he's been trying to potty-train Clint for years,” Natasha added with a smirk. Phil decided that his day had already been too full of bullshit to deal with this unholy team-up right now and turned back to his coffee.

“Yeah, regale the kid, Coulson.” Tony got up from the couch he'd claimed all for himself and carelessly threw the tablet behind him into the cushions. Clint tried to hide in Steve's chest when Tony approached, but he picked him up anyway, stuffed him under one arm and dropped him in Phil's lap before claiming his place on Steve. Being the mature adult he was, Tony stuck his tongue out at him when Clint pouted.

“Classy, Tony, very classy,” Steve said, not looking particularly serious in his attempts to shove Tony off as punishment.

While Steve and Tony fake-wrestled on the couch and Bruce tried his best to save the rest of his tea next to them, Clint made himself comfortable on Phil's lap. It wasn't long before he fell asleep on his chest. Phil did his best to keep his cooing internal and ignore the smarmy grins the rest of the team was giving him as he carefully ran his fingers through Clint's hair.

***

It took a week for Clint to turn back. No one had a clue why, since almost everyone else had been long returned to their usual state. Bruce had been forced to do a check-up several times over the course of that week, none of them much more pleasant than the first time.

Within a few days, they'd gotten used to having a tiny Clint around. Between Bruce, Natasha and Jarvis everyone had picked up enough sign language to communicate effectively enough. Tony had mentioned that he could design hearing aids, but no one had picked him up on it since Clint could turn back any time and Bruce had second-thoughts about hearing aids while the swelling from the injury hadn't gone down completely.

Clint had gotten over his initial suspicions faster than anyone had anticipated and was now gladly using every occupant of the tower as a sofa whenever they sat down. Even Tony looked reluctantly charmed when Clint curled up on his chest one lazy afternoon. There were only minimal complaints about drool on his arc reactor.

The tower itself, however, had to suffer Clint's extended trip back into childhood. At some point, Tony had been fool enough to let Clint into the workshop with him and now there really wasn't a room left in the building that hadn't been enhanced by sharpie drawings. Dummy at least seemed to adore the green lopsided elephant on the right side of his base and Tony seemed fond of the goatee that was now decorating the Iron Man mask despite his protests. It was very close to the original, admittedly.

No one tried to criticize Tony for his lack of judgement for once, though. It turned out that little Clint was way more charming than any of them had expected. Natasha had been caught knife-throwing with him, Bruce had a lot of samples that were unfit for use now thanks to the inspired sharpie dinosaurs on them, and Thor could be counted on to fly through the corridors with Clint on his back at all hours.

Even Phil had been fool enough to keep a sleepy Clint on his lap while doing paperwork, erringly assuming that he would be too tired to wreak much havoc. Fury's raised eyebrow at the stick figures with tie and sunglasses alternately fighting aliens, pirates and what looked like giant sticks of broccoli all over his latest report was punishment enough.

The only one who hadn't done anything remarkably stupid in the parenting department was Steve. His downfall was of a different kind – there was no one in the tower who spoiled Clint more rotten than Captain America. The slightest hurt noise or sniffle and Steve was there to pick him up and carry him around for as long as he wanted. Just a hint of puppy dog eyes and he forgot all about his usually firm stance on keeping them to their SHIELD issued healthy diets and stuffed him with all the sugary crap food he liked. Whenever Clint wanted anything at all Steve dropped everything to provide it in impressive quantities.

To no one's surprise Clint shamelessly made use of this as soon as he figured it out. One memorable Wednesday he pushed it so far that his feet didn't touch ground until mid-afternoon, either getting piggy back rides from Steve or flying around on Thor until Phil put his foot down and made him walk on his own. Unlike adult Clint's attempts at doe-eyed innocence, though, little Clint's were frustratingly effective and Phil ended up caving. The rest of the day was spent with Clint on his lap refusing to budge.

“You're the most spoiled kid in all of New York,” Tony said one evening during a lull in the movie they were all watching, gently poking Clint in the good side where he was curled up on his lap. Clint giggled and swatted at his hand. It was so adorable it almost made Phil nauseous.

Natasha snorted, lifting her head from where it rested on Thor's thigh to give Tony a disbelieving look. “In all of the world is more like it.” She gestured at the sea of toys covering the living room floor, the half-eaten plate of chocolate-marshmallow-gummy bear pancakes and the sharpie-covered walls. “He's getting all of the attention of a team of superheroes 24/7 AND all the toys money can buy.”

Tony made a considering noise, tilting his head a little to the side as he continued methodically poking a squirming and laughing Clint. “You may have a point.”

“And we have no authority,” Bruce said from his place next to Steve, not even looking up from the tablet he'd stolen from Tony. “For a bunch of alleged superheroes, we're really terrible at telling a six-year-old no.”

“Aw, come on, can you say no this face?” Tony's pout was even more impressive than Clint's as he held him up to the room Lion King Style.

Before anyone could comment, there was the eery green light again, followed by a loud crash as both Clint and Tony overbalanced. Phil was up on his feet before his brain even had time to register what had most likely happened.

“Jarvis, vitals?”

“Agent Barton appears to be back to normal,” Jarvis reassured them without missing a beat. “All vitals and readings as expected, the injuries do not seem to have carried over.”

Phil bit his lip to keep from asking if that also applied to his hearing but as usual Clint beat him to the punch.

A hand rose out of the groaning tangle of limbs next to the couch. “I can hear you again, so keep your gossip for when I'm not around.”

By the time everyone had crowded around Tony and Clint they had mostly managed to separate, Tony now sporting the beginnings of an impressive shiner where Clint likely clipped him with an elbow from the looks of it. Still pouting, Tony rubbed the already swelling skin.

“I liked you better when you weighed 200 pounds less.”

Clint hummed non-committally. “The impact might have been less but the elbow would have been pointier.”

Tony stuck out his tongue. “See if I keep spoiling you, brat!”

The shriek that came out of Tony's mouth when Clint tackled him back to the floor was priceless. Maybe he could bribe Jarvis into giving him a recording. Along with a framed picture of Tony trying to shove Clint's face away as he draped himself all over his chest the same way he had not five minutes ago, blinking painfully fake doe-eyes up at him.

“Stop it, you, you're not cute anymore! Go to Coulson, he's the only one who buys your puppy dog act when you're not six years old.”

Clint immediately turned the puppy eyes on him but Phil just shrugged and kept a bland face. No one – and that included Clint – needed to know that it did sort of work a little. Or that it made him want to smile in a very embarrassing, dopey way.

“Not working on me at all. I know all your tricks, Barton.”

Clint tried Natasha next but as she just laughed in his face he turned his attention back on annoying Tony. Even so, Phil was pretty sure that it also worked a little on Natasha. She was just even better than him at hiding it. Maybe.

“Maybe we can finally clean up the tower now,” Bruce said thoughtfully as everyone else watched Tony and Clint roll over the floor wrestling like the pre-schoolers they were.

There was a shout of “You love the dinosaurs!” that was drowned out by Tony shoving a pillow in Clint's face.

Half an hour later, there were feathers all over the living-room and New York's finest heroes slumped back into the cushions of Tony's furniture, exhausted.

“We should go to IKEA,” Tony said from where he was lying on the floor, voice muffled by the ruined pillow still resting on his face. “Replace all this.” He gestured to the room at large.

“You would deliberately step into an IKEA?” Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. Phil had no idea where she took the energy from. A superhero pillow fight really was no walk in the park.

Tony made a considering noise from behind the pillow. “I mostly just want to observe Thor in one.”

Thor looked worryingly tempted even though he probably had no clue what they were talking about.

Clint snorted from where he'd slumped against Phil. As adorable as cuddly tiny Clint had been, Phil preferred the solid heat and weight of Clint's fully grown body. “You'd probably grab the most expensive arm chair you could find, claim it as your throne and let Steve push you around in it.”

“Please.” Tony removed the pillow from his face to give Clint a disdainful look. “Even I know that the only somewhat reasonably comfortable pieces of IKEA furniture are the couches. Steve is strong enough to heave one of those on a cart to chauffeur me around.”

Phil mostly tuned out the resulting bickering. It was pretty much just background noise in the tower by now. And the way Clint's hand was currently inching up his thigh was way more interesting by far.

That was, until Bruce slapped it away with a disapproving tutting noise, to Phil's utter embarrassment.

“Clint, no sex for you until I had a chance to make sure you're back to normal.” He gave him a meaningful look. Clint tried the watery-eyed pout but Bruce was obviously not buying it.

“Aw, come on, man,” he finally said, already sounding resigned to not winning this argument. “Cut me some slack. I've been a kid for a week. Which means I didn't have sex for a week. Now that I'm not a kid anymore I miss sex. Please let me go have sex with my hot boyfriend, Doc? Jarvis says I'm fine, you can poke me with needles later.”

Phil tried his best murderous glareTM on Clint and was only mildly disappointed when he didn't spontaneously catch on fire. He did have a lot of time and experience to become immune to it, after all. Usually, Phil would argue that there would be no sex after this little display, but he had missed grown-up Clint in the week he'd made a vacation in kiddie land.

“Jarvis doesn't know for sure, either, without extensive testing. You're coming to the lab with me.” Bruce made a show of basically dragging Clint out by his ear but Phil could tell that he went willingly enough, if still a little put-out by the damper Bruce had put on the mood. He'd admit it to no one else, ever, but the whole crossed-arms, narrowed eyes, giant pout look was kind of adorable on adult Clint, too.

“Friend Clint!” Thor boomed across the room when they'd nearly made it to the door. “If this examination requires needles I will gladly be of assistance to you again.”

Everyone in the room froze. From everyone else, this would have been the usual mocking banter, discarded easily enough. Hell, even coming from Thor Phil wouldn't have been sure if it hadn't been for the honest look in his eyes.

One look around the room told him that they were all preparing for an ugly scene just then. Natasha's hand might even have twitched towards one of the knives she was having on her at all times.

“Actually,” a small, genuine smile stretched on Clint's face. “Actually, that would be-” he cleared his throat. “That would be nice.”

No one could argue that Clint didn't know how to shock a room into silence. All except for Thor, who bounced delightedly to his feet and was at Clint's side in a few strides. Bruce shook his head, looking just as dumbfounded as the rest of them, before he tightened his grip on Clint's ear and manoeuvred him out of the living room. Thor merrily followed behind.

“Did I just witness character development?” Tony said, sounding perplexed.

Natasha threw him a glance. “Must be, if you can spot it.”

Tony threw a pillow at her and was rewarded with a whole living room's worth to his head. For a moment, Phil worried he'd have to find the energy to either duck behind the couch or engage in another pillow fight, but Tony just fell back into the carpet and groaned.

“I'm gonna miss baby Clint. Much less stabby and it was cute instead of awful when he flopped down on you.”

“Not sure Phil sees it that way,” Natasha said cheerfully, earning herself a round of murderous stareTM of her own.

“It's not like that much is gonna change,” Phil said eventually, after they'd sat in blessed silence for a while for the first time in a week. “He's still going to draw dinosaurs on my reports if I don't pay attention.”

“At least now no one's going to yell at me for throwing knives with him.” Natasha shrugged when they all just stared at her.

Tony hummed thoughtfully, absentmindedly building a pillow fort around himself. “Bet if I let him into the workshop with the sharpies now the result wouldn't change.”

“Maybe you should cut back on the pampering, though,” Natasha said with a glance to Steve. Steve blushed and tried to disappear into the couch when Natasha and Tony started to snicker.

“I just wanted him to have a nice childhood memory,” he murmured, barely audible. It effectively shut them all up. “He doesn't talk about it much but we all know his was awful. No one pampered him when he was a kid and I just thought- I just thought that should be something he should have, if I could make it happen.”

No one tried to argue with that, since essentially they'd all done the same in their own way. Silence settled over them, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as Phil would have expected. His best guess was that maybe it was because they couldn't turn back time and make all the awful things not happen, but they'd done pretty well with the present, at least. They should be allowed a little basking.

Unsurprisingly, it was Tony who eventually broke the silence. “Jay, how's it going down there?”

“Very well, Sir. Thor has regaled Agent Barton with a tale of the Warrior's Three's drunken escapades and Doctor Banner is very proud to announce that he didn't even flinch when the needle went into his arm and that there will be lollipops for everyone involved.”

Tony pouted at the ceiling. “I want lollipops, too.”

“I'm sorry, Sir, as you have not been part of this medical examination, you do not get a lollipop from Doctor Banner.”

“It's my tower! I should be able to get a lollipop whenever I want! Jarvis, tell me where Bruce keeps his stash!”

Natasha shook her head as they watched Tony bicker with Jarvis. “Really not different at all.”

When Clint came back into the living room with Thor and Bruce, laughing easily and looking only mildly uncomfortable, Phil couldn't help but disagree. Instead of running off and hiding somewhere in the vents to lick the wounds to his pride, Clint was draping himself half over him and half over Thor. He was laughing and joking and while they all mostly avoided the topic of anyone having been turned into a child for any length of time, he was still there. There was no way Phil could have stopped the proud smile on his face as he let just the tips of his fingers rest on Clint's nape.

He had a few moments to marvel at the serenity of it all before Tony and Clint tore off in a race to get their hands on the sharpies to see who could do more damage as a grown-up. Maybe not so different, after all.


End file.
